


Head Over Feet

by shinigami_yumi



Series: Across Time And Space [1]
Category: Samurai Warriors, Shin Sangokumusou | Dynasty Warriors, Warriors Orochi
Genre: Anal Sex, Behind the Scenes, Bonding over cultural exchange, Canon Compliant, Complete, History - Freeform, M/M, POV First Person, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2012-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-09 05:18:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinigami_yumi/pseuds/shinigami_yumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cao Pi wants to replace Sima Yi. Ishida Mitsunari wants to forget Kato Kiyomasa. When Da Ji throws them together, their plans go a little too well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Head Over Feet

**Author's Note:**

> I recently rediscovered my love for this pairing. This fic is the result of that.
> 
> The story background uses a proprietary blend of historical fact, Musou fiction and headcanon. If you've never heard of something before, I may or may not have made it up. All game references are to Warriors Orochi (English) and Sengoku Musou 3 (Japanese) where applicable. For the purposes of this fic, I consider all the X stages in Orochi to be part of the canon story line.
> 
> Many thanks to [Meinarch](http://meinarch.deviantart.com/) for the beta. All mistakes are mine; let me know if you find them. I regret nothing.

Ishida Mitsunari. He’s sharp. He works for Da Ji, but I do not doubt that he has his own agenda. I don’t trust him.

 

The first time I saw him from afar at Kuzegawa, I thought he was some strangely dressed handmaiden of Da Ji’s. For one, he was prettier than her and a whole lot more refined.

Then he started talking.

In softly spoken words as sharp as acid, I discerned a strategist and a schemer, one who was familiar with our era. He knew of me as soon as he heard my name, and whatever he’d learned of me wasn’t kind for no sooner had we been introduced than he immediately grew hostile. Well, all right, two people could play this game.

In battle, he proved a formidable warrior unwilling to be outdone, wielding his iron fan with lethal grace. His spunk, while something of an annoyance, gets rather entertaining when turned on his employer. I could use a man like him. Pity he works for the enemy.

 

A few days after our return to my castle in Luoyang, wherever that is in this new world that has pieces of two different lands planted in it in seemingly random order, I find Da Ji’s copper haired pet in the training grounds. She sent us both to Jing Province to deal with some remnants of Shu holed up in Xiang Yang castle. This should have been simple enough, but we weren’t expecting back up to arrive for them, so we ended up retreating. I expect he’ll return with Da Ji soon enough, but for now, he’s practicing. Nothing unusual in itself, but from the way he’s going at the dummy, you’d think it had wronged his entire family three generations over. It puts me in the mood for a fight.

“If you’d like to train with something that can fight back, you need only ask,” I invite loudly from where I’m leaning on a pillar, watching with my arms crossed.

He whirls around, quickly masking his surprise. I’m guessing he didn’t pick up on my presence earlier. I walk towards him. The sheen of perspiration glistens on his lightly tanned skin in the sunlight. He’s been at this for a while. Brown eyes light up at the challenge.

“I am in no mood for blunts today,” he warns, knowing I wouldn’t be deterred.

“You’re not wearing your armour either,” I riposte as we take our positions.

He smirks. “First blood?”

I unsheathe my swords. “My favourite kind.” It isn’t, but it will suffice when an opponent’s death is an inconvenient end result.

“How convenient. Then let us begin.”

I’m not sure how long we have been sparring, rather evenly matched, when his fan comes far too close to giving me a scratch on my face for comfort. Even a scratch counts as first blood, and I’m determined to win this little bout we have going here. He’s a lot handier with that iron fan of his than I first thought. Time to get really serious.

The next time he tosses it at me, I roll forward beneath it and bodily slam him to the ground before he can properly catch it to attack again. This could have been lethal, only I didn’t slash at him. The result is my straddling him to pin him down with a sword to his throat.

There is a brief flash of fear in his eyes before they grow cold. “From what I’ve read about you, I expected someone smart enough to understand the meaning of first blood, not a monkey on a power trip.” This man is so rude that his continued existence itself is impressive. No one of any finesse could possibly hear such talk without feeling utterly scandalized.

I nick his neck, where a deeper cut would be fatal, with the tip of my blade in acquiescence, but I don’t release him, and he doesn’t move a muscle. We remain that way as we catch our breaths, each silently taking the other’s measure.

At length, he breathes, “You won’t do it,” and it sounds knowing, almost victorious.

I laugh at his satisfaction. “It’s hardly worth the effort.” In a fluid motion, I rise and sheathe my swords before offering him a hand. He looks at it warily and refuses my help. “Don’t press your luck,” I add and leave him to his own devices. It wouldn’t do to tip my hand so early.

 

This Ishida Mitsunari is proving more dangerous than I expected. He is both smarter and more observant than Da Ji, not to mention less predictable. It has become evident that she doesn’t trust him any more than she trusts me, and we are being set up to watch each other. He knows this, of course, which means it suits his agenda to have her suspect me. He must be convinced that his scheme, which likely involves turning on Da Ji and Orochi as well, would be best furthered by aligning himself with me. I’ve faced greater challenges at court than convincing a smart man of a self-evident truth. This will be amusing.

 

Back in our main keep after the battle at Tian Shui, I walk past Mitsunari’s room to hear the sound of a zheng being tuned and tested. I knock. After several moments, he opens the door and raises an eyebrow.

“What a rare and unexpected pleasure.” I can practically hear the sarcasm dripping from his tongue on the last word, but despite his unconcealed irritation, he steps aside to let me in. The look in his eyes tells me he knows why I am here.

I walk past him and indicate the instrument on the low rectangular table that he has replaced our high round tables with. “Is the zheng still popular in your time?”

If he is surprised by the question, he doesn’t show it. “In your people’s lands, it is. Where I am from, we play a thirteen-stringed version called the koto.”

I sit on one of two cushions and begin tuning it to suit the piece I wish to play. “Do you play it the same way?”

He gives me a long hard look, likely wondering why we are not yet discussing business. Tact is not his style, after all. Still, he hesitantly sits down across from me in what looks like a distinctly uncomfortable position. “I just found out that you cannot easily slide the bridges to adjust the sound while playing. Also, the two instruments produce quite different sounds,” he answers.

I nod and start playing one of my better compositions. Not the best (he hasn’t earned that), but appropriate for demonstration. He listens in silence, paying close attention to the way I play.

When the song ends, he observes, “We don’t press the strings to adjust the sound while playing the koto.” His interest is genuine, and for the moment, his hostility is absent. Intriguing. As if suddenly remembering whose company he shares, he leans back with a start, considering. “It appears the history books were remiss in noting your playing of the zheng,” he offers at length.

Ah, that’s right. He does come from the future, after all. I wonder what else the history books say about me. “Hardly a noteworthy detail,” I reply. “Though history, as much esteem as I have for it, oft notes only what its authors wish remembered. They might have seen fit to mention that I spent much of my life in the Emperor’s court. This is the sort of activity people enjoy there.”

He taps his fan to the palm of his hand thoughtfully. “So you’re saying that you’re well acquainted with the courtly intrigues of treason?”

I hide a smile. “If I learned anything at all there, I must say it is that the measure of a man is in where he finds his enemies. A common man finds them far. A good man finds them near. A great man finds them in his house among those he holds most dear.”

I feel his stare and ignore it in favour of retuning the zheng, letting him perpend my words. Finally, he quietly asks, “What of an evil man?”

I look up to meet his gaze. “Why, an evil man finds enemies everywhere. It’s funny how his enemies don’t find each other, really.”

He unfolds his fan and closes it again, never looking away. “And which are you, Cao Pi?”

I rise, heading for the door. “You tell me, Mitsunari. You’ve read more of my life than I have lived.” With that, I take my leave of him.

 

I didn’t expect him to cover for me about Sun Ce, but it appears that he has made his choice. Da Ji accepts his theory for now, but even she is not stupid enough not to suspect us of being in league with each other. It’s a risky gambit, and I expect she will find some way to either test us or retaliate, something petty and unimpressive.

It comes soon enough. She sends us to fight his friends in what would have been Ji Province. He doesn’t object, of course not, but it didn’t escape me when he tensed at the name Nene.

 

We are running towards Nene’s fort when Mitsunari suddenly shouts that he’ll attack from the other door. A pincer attack would be good, and I nod. I run in to find a tall man with spiky white hair and a large sword halting the advance of my soldiers, and I hurry to join the fray. As soon as he gets a proper look at me, he roars and attacks ferociously.

After I’ve parried a barrage of slashes, he suddenly leaps back and demands, “What have you done to him?!”

It is incredibly difficult to come up with an intelligent response to such a random question, so I settle for a slow blink of incomprehension.

“Ishida Mitsunari!” the man yells to clarify. “You and your serpent king, you’ve placed some kind of spell on him, haven’t you?!”

This man who works with ninjas is accusing _me_ of witchcraft? I don’t know what to make of this absurdity. “I’m afraid he was already working for Orochi when we first met, so I wouldn’t know if he does so willingly or under enchantment,” I answer coolly.

“You must have! Orochi must have bewitched him! Mitsunari wouldn’t w—”

“Look,” I interrupt, growing impatient. What a waste of time. “Sort this out with him yourself. Now either get started or get out of my way.”

He growls. “I won’t let you lay a finger on Lady Nene!”

 

By the time I reach where Mitsunari is fighting Nene while asking her to just surrender, my new friend is far worse for wear than usual. I help him defeat her, and no sooner have the enemies retreated than he sways. Sacred ancestors, he’s suffered enough injuries not to even attempt a snarky remark when I pull his good arm over my shoulders and wrap mine around his waist to support him to where our forces are setting up camp. He is surprisingly thin beneath all the layers of cloth.

When he sleeps after the physicians have fixed him up to the best of their ability, he doesn’t wake for two days, but they assure me he is in no danger. He wakes fit to ride back to Luoyang, however, so we return to the castle as soon as he does. He hasn’t spoken a word since the end of the battle, so it surprises me when he leaves the door to his room open in silent invitation.

It is not a request.

I close the door behind me and watch as he gingerly removes his armour and outerwear until he is dressed only in a black robe. I remember he calls it a kimono. “Tea?” he offers as he sets his helmet down on the desk.

I incline my head agreeably, and he moves to set up the necessary implements on the table. They are different from what we normally use, and there’s something oddly meditative about the way he wipes his hands clean, lights the coal in the brazier, fills the pot with water and lays everything out. As he waits for the water to boil, he looks out the balcony towards the afternoon sky, and the look that crosses his face is one of… profound emptiness? It passes, however, and I say nothing as I sit down across from him on the cushion because this process of brewing tea appears to be a silent ceremony.

When the water boils, he observes it for a moment before pouring some into the two bowls on the table and cleaning what appears to be a bamboo whisk. He adds fresh water to the pot before pouring the water in the bowls away and wiping everything dry with a piece of white cloth. Next, he opens a small cylindrical case and measures out a small, precise quantity of fine green powder into the bowls.

I assume this is the tea. Powder? He can’t be serious. Yet, I have also never seen tea this vibrant shade of green.

When the water boils again, he considers it before pouring a precise amount into one bowl and whisking it. Strange, but a thousand years and tens of thousands of li are fairly certain to change how something is done. Setting the whisk down, he lifts the bowl and turns it so the intricate floral pattern on one side faces me before handing it to me. [1]

I take it with both hands and stare at the frothy bright green liquid inside. It doesn’t look like any kind of tea I’ve seen, and for a moment, I entertain the possibility that he might poison me. Well, I suppose his contemporaries wouldn’t call him the Fox of Sawayama if he were so obvious, and if he wanted me dead, he could have simply left me to Da Ji’s nonexistent mercy at Xia Kou.

Presumably, the turning of the bowl has some significance, so I turn it until the pattern faces him and lift it slightly in thanks before sipping at the tea. It is slightly bitter, but it goes down smoothly with a pleasantly clean aftertaste. It smells of fresh tea leaves, as if the tea had just been picked from a tree in the garden minutes ago and pressed into the bowl. It far exceeds my expectations, and I glance up to find him looking at me expectantly. I’m guessing from the ritual-like artistry of this that I’m supposed to pay him some kind of literary compliment.

“Each has his spring and autumn,” I remark obligingly, mostly to prove that I, at least, can take a social cue. [2]

Mitsunari smiles, genuinely, and a political victory has never tasted so sweet. “You learn quickly,” he murmurs, making a bowl for himself.

“I get that a lot.” I drink the rest of my tea. “You’re quite good at this.”

“That is why Lord Hideyoshi hired me, after all.”

“Lord?” I echo incredulously. To make tea? “Was he picking an officer or picking a wife?” What a waste of talent, loathe though I am to admit my appreciation thereof.

He glares at me as he drinks. “If that is how you choose your wives, then know that my people are far more particular about such matters than yours.”

I, for one, firmly believe in choosing one’s officers more carefully than one’s wives. A wife doesn’t govern a portion of the kingdom, after all. That isn’t worth saying, however, so I riposte with “If that is how you speak to your lord, then the concept of vassalage has certainly changed with the times.”

He seems momentarily taken aback, but then concludes that I must be referring to their meeting at Xiang Yang castle. “That’s…” He stops, gathers his thoughts and attempts a better explanation. “The Lord Hideyoshi you see here has not even met me yet.” His words are bitter, aggrieved. “In my time, my lord has already passed on, and those who would steal his lands and titles for their own call _me_ a usurper in my adoptive father’s house.”

No wonder he was so upset that day in the training grounds. “Difficult decisions are oft misunderstood by the ignorant and misused by the villainous.” This is something I understand well enough.

His eyes meet mine, searching as if to gauge my intent, and what he finds seems to satisfy him for he relaxes. “What did Kiyomasa tell you?” he asks, switching topics smoothly.

Ah, so this is why we are here. I assume he is referring to the man with the spiky white hair I fought that day. “What makes you think he told me anything?”

Mitsunari smirks knowingly. “Modesty doesn’t suit you, Cao Pi. Try again.”

“He thinks we bewitched you.”

He looks away, and there is a long moment of silence before he mutters, “I didn’t say that when he left.”

I think I’m out of my depth. “You could have told him that yourself that day.”

The bitter smile is audible in his words although I cannot see his face. “We had an objective. If it were Kiyomasa, I would have hesitated.”

“Looks to me like you hesitated just the same.”

He turns to shoot me a glare. I meet it coolly.

“The kind of man who drives his wife and brother to suicide and then assassinates his other brother wouldn’t understand.”

I narrow my eyes. “Where did you hear that?”

“I read.” But of course.

“I have done no such thing.”

“Yet. You’re also not Emperor yet.”

“Good to know. I will be here as well.”

At that, he smiles once more, amused. “Confident, aren’t we? Don’t decline thrice when you get the chance here.”

Hmph, a smart mouth, but not unpleasant company. I rise. “If there is nothing else, I shall go see what Orochi, or Da Ji as the case may be, wants us to do next.”

Mitsunari stands as well because that is the polite thing to do (and, oh, he still has _some_ sense of propriety yet) and stumbles. The injuries, perhaps. I bend to catch him to keep him from falling into the tea set or still-burning brazier and somehow end up with our lips pressed together and our arms around each other.

I gasp in surprise.

He doesn’t pull away, and I don’t let go.

I close my mouth and swallow thickly. I think he misinterprets this because his lips move against mine, tentative and experimental, but unmistakably a kiss.

Suddenly, I’m lifting him over the table between us, and I know I will regret this. There is too much cloth in the way, and I push his kimono off his shoulders as he backs me into his bed. His skin is unbelievably soft, and I admit I didn’t expect to see so many battle scars. I trace one with my tongue, scrape my teeth lightly over his collarbone, and he shivers, unfastening my clothes and pushing me onto my back. I let him climb atop me. He smells of grass and wind and sand, the landscape we were riding through, and when I wrap my arms around him (avoiding the bandages) to press his body flush against mine, he is already hard.

Hard.

Ishida Mitsunari.

Only minutes ago, he was calling me a murderer and a usurper.

I pull him up for another kiss, and he returns it eagerly. I’ve never thought of another man this way before, and I don’t know how this is going to work, but there’s the lingering taste of tea as his tongue slides against mine, and I know exactly what, and whom, I’m doing when I drag my heel along his inner thigh. He groans deeply with longing.

He’s done this before.

It’s been a long time.

Abruptly, he pulls back, eyes closed, back arching as he moans, and Zhen, beautiful as she is, much as I love her, could never look so erotic. His hips rock against mine, and I gasp as I watch him, burying one hand in his hair. Mitsunari buries his face in the crook of my neck, his breathing ragged in my ear. I wonder what he’s doing that gives him such pleasure and find his hand with my own. There is oil on his skin, and I trace a path in it as I search. The breath hitches in his throat, and when my fingers finally find his and slide along them into wet heat, his entire body jerks as he bites down into my shoulder.

In a flash, he’s on his knees, and my eyes widen as he oils me with his hand and slides down on me with a desperate moan, slick and hot and tighter than any woman. He sighs with unadulterated pleasure, and somehow, I expected to have to fight him for this, if ever. Yet, somehow, here we are, and he is willing, raw _need_ in every movement, and just like that, it’s not enough.

I pull him towards me sharply and flip us over, eliciting a surprised gasp. When I cradle him in my arms, one hand under his lower back for support, and cant my hips gently, he whimpers and tangles his hands in my hair. This I understand.

I thrust into him at exactly the angle he’d used earlier and have to kiss him to muffle his cry of pleasure. His legs wrap around me to draw me deeper inside, his fingers scrabble for purchase on my skin, and _nothing_ has ever felt this good.

I move harder, faster, and suddenly, he clenches around me. My hips snap into him as my vision whites out, and I groan into his mouth as he comes with a choked cry, his nails digging into my back. I don’t know which one of us is trembling, and I hope we haven’t reopened any of his wounds doing this. I roll us onto our sides to keep from resting my weight on him and mouth absently at his jaw line as we catch our breaths. His eyes are closed, his face drawn with exhaustion.

At length, I stand and walk across the room to grab a damp washcloth from beside the basin. He doesn’t look at me as I clean us both off. Finally, he opens his eyes and sits up.

“Damn it, I hate you,” he whispers, running a hand listlessly through his hair.

I gather my clothes and start putting them back on. “This was your idea,” I remind him pointedly.

“You’re too much like him.” Now that’s just pathetic.

“I will keep in mind that getting over someone by getting under someone else doesn’t always work.”

The burn of resentment in his gaze is hot on my back as I leave, inexplicably angry.

 

We don’t properly talk again until the battle with the Xiahou brothers at what used to be Yi Ling, and even then, it’s only business. I hold a relatively modest banquet to welcome the brothers back, and although Mitsunari sits next to me, we do not engage in conversation. Despite the frostier than usual air between us, I notice that he picks at the rice, which has been cooked with sweet pork sausage. However, he does finish his serving of the pork belly stewed in black vinegar and ask for seconds of the vermicelli in fish and pickled vegetable soup, so I don’t feel too remiss in my duty as host. I regret that we can’t obtain Luoyang’s finest delicacies here, but the kitchens have done well with what we have, true to the pride of the Three Kingdoms.

When we have dined it is time to apportion the gold Orochi unknowingly pays us to prepare our uprising against him, divide whatever has not been set aside for our cause among my officers. I rise, signaling for the prepared chest to be brought out.

“My friends,” I begin above the dwindling conversation and pause until I have everyone’s attention. “We have taken what we must for the future of Wei,” I continue, choosing my words carefully. “So take your share, loyal officers, for the upkeep of your households and, above all, as gratitude for your continued and unwavering service to the Kingdom of Wei.”

The men toast to the brief speech and accept the bags of gold I hand out in turn. The longer serving officers receive more, of course, but they will not know this until they count their lots in the privacy of their homes or rooms. When I finally reach Mitsunari, he shakes his head in refusal.

“I have no need for the snake’s gold. Save it for your people,” he advises quietly before rising and departing without another word.

Well, evidently, my new strategist has a propensity for committing political suicide. By refusing, he has just made every other officer look bad. I assuage them jokingly in the ensuing awkward silence with the truth: that he lives on my expense anyway, but leave out my recent discovery while reviewing the finances of just how frugally. The man barely requests anything of my household.

I would have words with Mitsunari on tact if I thought they’d have any effect. Still, I have learned that the destiny of the land lies with the people. Perhaps his creed is exactly the one we need right now. Moreover, a skilled military strategist who doesn’t want a salary? I’d never find another in all of the Three Kingdoms. I could definitely use somebody like him, pathetic emotional sense or no.

 

Following our victory at Saika over the combined armies of the Takeda and the Uesugi, I head for Mitsunari’s room the day after we arrive back in Luoyang. Our next order of business is Da Ji, and he’s the only one here who has been to her keep. When I arrive, a servant is at his door telling him he has a visitor. He agrees to go with the page, confusion plain upon his face, but stops when he sees me.

“Oh, don’t let me keep our guest waiting,” I tell him sardonically, indicating that he should pass. He has never feigned any respect for me before. Why does he even bother now?

“Why are you following me?” he demands when I fall into step beside him.

“This is _my_ castle. I am expected to receive _our_ guests.”

He looks like he wants to protest, but it isn’t worth the effort. When we reach the outer courtyard, he freezes, and when my searching eyes find spiky white hair, I see why. Katō Kiyomasa, was it? This should be entertaining.

Suddenly, Mitsunari grabs me by the shoulders and presses close to whisper hoarsely in my ear, “Tell him I never want to see him again.”

“I’m not your messenger,” I snap. I’m especially annoyed that he’s doing this solely to upset the audience, but my hand comes to rest on the small of his back of its own accord.

His fingertips dig into my arms. “Please.”

Fine. If I must. I pull away from him and walk across the courtyard to approach Kiyomasa. “I expect you know Mitsunari is the type to think he can order a man around in his own house, for I have been instructed to let you know he never wants to see you again,” I announce with my arms crossed, watching the other’s face fall from wanting to laugh to wanting to cry. It is unexpectedly satisfying.

“Please let me see him,” Kiyomasa pleads earnestly, undeterred. “I promise I come in peace.”

“I assure you the issue does not lie with me,” I reply, glancing back towards Mitsunari to find that he has already returned inside.

“Then take me to him!”

From what I’ve seen, I believe the rift between them is reparable, and Mitsunari doesn’t want to let Kiyomasa try because he’s afraid this man will succeed. The thought makes an ugly twist at my heart.

“I’m afraid he’s not an enemy I can afford to have right now,” I tell him matter-of-factly.

Kiyomasa punches the wall in frustration. “Damn it! I know an awful lot of things have gone wrong since we were last together, but Orochi?! Mitsunari, why?!”

 _This_ is why he has come all this way? Why would anyone want to prove they are inept? Now I am really glad I didn’t let this idiot in. “This is a waste of my time. It is too much to expect the blind to see the light. Guards, escort our visitor out.” I whirl on my heel and ignore his protests as I storm back inside in search of my strategist. I don’t have to look very far. He is waiting just inside the entryway. “Never again, you hear?” I snap at him angrily. “Leave me out of your lovers’ quarrel.”

He doesn’t answer, but to my surprise, trails behind me all the way to my chambers and shuts the door behind him. “I expect he won’t come again,” he says and even has the gall to sound sad.

“You can explain things to him yourself soon enough,” I reply crossly, pouring myself a cup of water from a jar and downing it with more vehemence than necessary.

“Why should I have to explain myself to someone who would side with a liar and a slanderer against me when he knows me better than anyone?!” Mitsunari yells suddenly. “As if he has any right to ask! Only a complete imbecile would believe that Tokugawa Ieyasu wishes to preserve the Taiko’s rule. Even so, if what I said created nothing but enemies for me, that’s fine, and I’m content, but if he and Masanori are going to knowingly buy into the lies that our enemies spread because they have no faith in my abilities, then they can take any goodwill left between us and shove it because there is only so much stupidity I can overlook. And now he has the audacity to ask for an _explanation_?!”

I realize I have been staring, wide-eyed, at him throughout his tirade because, as rude as Mitsunari often gets, I have never heard him raise his voice. I refill the cup I was just drinking from and hand it to him. He downs it in one go and doesn’t resist when I lead him with a firm grip on his arm over to the cushioned bench by the balcony to sit down. His breathing is heavy, shallow and uneven; the emotional outburst has clearly winded him. Now, if only he’d put his heart where his mouth is, I’d have gladly let his former lover in for a heartbreak.

“Mules bray and fools talk, but the wise man listens not,” I say carefully, squeezing his shoulder in a gesture I hope is comforting. “You needn’t concern yourself with the vicissitudes of ignorant opinion.”

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t care, but it takes someone of sharp and flexible intellect to cooperate as well with me as he has so far, and that is something I can respect. Intelligence is something that has been sorely missing in this house since Sima Yi left, and that one’s a bigger snake than Orochi. At least Orochi does not pretend to be anything but. Ideally, I would have beheaded the man long ago, but for a time, our interests were in line, and I had yet to find a suitable replacement. Frankly, I consider Mitsunari a godsend, not that I’d ever admit so to him. It also wouldn’t do to have my strategist eloping with a callous idiot before we’ve even dealt with the witch.

“Hmph, Kiyomasa doesn’t even have the excuse of ignorance.”

I pat his knee. “Then it is a fool’s opinion. Not even worth the thought.”

That gets a weak chuckle out of him. In the silence, his breathing slows, and he relaxes, leaning into my side just a little. I find a smile curving my lips when I ask, “I don’t suppose you are up for discussing business?”

He rises languidly, expression mirroring mine. “Of course. You want to know about Da Ji’s hideaway.”

Sharp as ever. I incline my head in appreciation. “And anything else you can tell me about it. It is about time we went snake-hunting.”

“Indeed. Da Ji is holed up in Odawara Castle. Fortunately for you, I am very familiar with the place from when my lord and I chased the Hōjō out of it.”

Well, then. Keeping him around has certainly proven worthwhile. Overall, he has also been rather less irritating of late. “How convenient,” I murmur, pleased. “Then let me propose a plan.”

 

We are on our way back from Odawara when I receive word that Mitsunari’s contingent has strayed to rescue a defecting Diao Chan from a pursuing Dong Zhuo. Oh, just great. His sense of justice picks the worst times to rear its ugly head. If Diao Chan is involved, Lü Bu is sure to show, and while Mitsunari is generally capable of handling himself, Lü Bu is on an entirely different level. I mask my frustration as I give the command to alter course. Just once, I’d like to not have a disaster to avert.

Mitsunari is ahead of me when I arrive, of course, and by the time I reach him, he is already fighting Lü Bu. I overhear their conversation and establish that his tongue will surely be the death of him. “How should I answer that”?! Could he not simply say outright that he has never even seen the woman before?! I join the battle and take my frustration out on the surrounding soldiers as I fight my way to his side. With a flash of panic, I realize he isn’t faring so well. I draw Lü Bu’s attention, and Ōtani Yoshitsugu, Zhang Liao and Diao Chan herself give us a hand with beating the brute into retreating. He is about to charge after Dong Zhuo when I grab and restrain him.

“Enough!” I shout at him. “Shouldn’t you leave such recklessness to others?! What happened to letting others do the work while you take all the glory?! Remember your role in all this! Haven’t you wasted enough time on this fool’s errand?!”

He flings my hand away. “I will finish what I started.”

I catch his arm again. “Fall back, Mitsunari. That’s an order.”

“One I don’t intend to obey. I don’t recall asking for your help.” He tries to shake free, but I tighten my grip.

“I am your commander, and you _will_ listen to me. _Fall back_.”

He opens his mouth to protest, struggling against me, and I scream in frustration.

“I don’t want to lose you!”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. Gods, what am I saying? My ancestors know I’ve had better days. Whatever protest he planned on making dies on his lips as he stills and gapes at me. I don’t blame him; the last time I said this, I was talking to my wife. That it is true does not make it any less awkward, and I know I’m done for. He looks away, and I shake him once before letting go, searching for something less inappropriate to say in the sudden silence.

“Guide the defense,” I manage, not looking at him. “I will cut through the enemy ranks and see that decadent swine learns his place.”

He seems to gather himself. “I suppose I deserve a holiday,” he relents quietly with as much dignity as he can muster.

I nod and leave him there, running ahead to settle things with Dong Zhuo. I hate to think of it as running away.

 

At Mitsunari’s suggestion, we went to recruit Azai Nagamasa and his army. The man is impressively skilled with that enormous lance of his, but I must say I’d hoped his wife had inherited more of her brother’s talents. Still, they will make a valuable addition to our forces.

On our way back, I receive word that Zhen has returned from her last campaign and, upon hearing news of my defection, is now en route to Luoyang to join me. Unfortunately, Orochi has sent his errand boy, Dong Zhuo, after her, so I expect her arrival will be somewhat delayed. It has been too long since I last saw my wife, so I decide to go give her a hand against that greedy derelict. With any luck, Orochi will have his head this time for yet another cowardly retreat too many.

As we switch course for the current location of Liang Province, Mitsunari rides up to my side. “You have a wife?” he asks, and I wonder whether he means ‘already’ or ‘still.’

“Of course. You know this. We all do. Don’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” he agrees quietly. “I could not find Hatsune anywhere after I landed here.”

It bothers me that we are having this conversation. A strategist does not act without reason. By silent agreement, we have not spoken of the incident at Diao Chan’s rescue. Indeed, we have barely spoken at all outside of strategy meetings, and I don’t know where things stand between us anymore. I glance sideways at him, but he’s staring straight ahead, and we don’t exchange another word for the rest of the journey.

 

It has been days since I last even glimpsed this man who supposedly lives in my house, and I doubt it is simply because I have spent most of that time with Zhen. Mitsunari has been elusive. I could simply call for a strategy meeting, of course, but we’re already preparing to move into Yamazaki, and the only thing left to do is wait for Da Ji to betray us and lead us to Orochi. Besides, that isn’t the setting I wish to meet him in. It is not for business that I seek his company.

I head out to inspect the horses, livestock and grain stores. The weather here is erratic, but in recent months, it has consistently been dry, and I fear we may not have enough food or the horses may not have seen sufficient care for our impending incursion into Orochi territory. Every battle henceforth is important, decisive even, and we cannot afford to be unprepared. My cursory inspection of the horses suggests they are doing well, but I still tell the men in charge to take special care.

When I head into the barn to inspect the livestock feed and bedding, I realize where my strategist has disappeared to over the last few days. Mitsunari is reclined on a bale of straw facing a shaded window, dressed only in a purple kimono and weaving what appears to be a straw sandal.

He looks up as I approach and asks, “What brings the Prince of Wei to the haunts of the peasantry?”

“Fox-hunting,” I answer with a smirk, and the corners of his lips quirk up in the ghost of a smile before he turns back to his work.

I have never sat down in a barn before, never worn straw shoes in my life, much less see them made. As I watch him weave tabs into the sides, I remember my father’s stories about his long time enemy, Liu Bei. Father said that Liu Bei often wove straw shoes as a hobby in his spare time, that he’d learned how from his mother who sold straw mats and shoes for a living because he grew up in poverty after his father’s passing. Perhaps Mitsunari too wasn’t born with his current social status? His preference for simple fare and lifestyle could well be a remnant of humble origins.

He pulls the sandal together, secures it and snips off stray ends of straw before picking the other side up from beside him to compare them. They are almost exactly the same size. Consistence is a sign of mastery, of ample practice. I wonder whom he made these for.

Apparently satisfied, he holds the sandals out to me. “Try them.”

Incredulous, I blink at him momentarily, but remove my boots to oblige regardless. It takes several tries to figure out how to tie them on, but when I finally take a few experimental steps, they are light, flexible and a perfect fit, as if they had been made especially for me. _Oh_.

“Thank you.” I sit down beside him. “I’ll wear them in my bedroom.”

“In yo—” He bursts into laughter, and it softens the hard lines of his face.

“It wouldn’t do to ruin a treasured gift,” I reason with a frown.

“I expect you know the meaning of the word, ‘hobby’?” His tone has lost none of its derision, but brown eyes are warm when he glances my way.

“You’re welcome to help outfit the army,” I offer, leaning back on the straw. It’s more comfortable than I expected. “Unless you’d rather make them only for me.” I cover his hand with my own on the floor between us.

He doesn’t pull away, and I’m glad for it. “Not the army. Far too many.”

“I imagine it’d do wonders for morale to be wearing shoes hand-woven by your commanding officer into battle.”

He snorts. “I’d rather have someone else do the work while I take all the glory, remember? Can you arrange that?”

“Certainly. You’d still have to be seen making at least a few pairs personally though. Note that the key word here is ‘seen,’ mind you.”

“Politics, I see, doesn’t change very much over time,” he observes drily.

“Then the masses don’t evolve much more intelligence in the next thousand years,” I respond.

He laughs heartily at this, and I want to hear it again and again and again. Heavens, this is worse than when I first met Zhen. My wife’s qualities I can name in essays; I don’t even know what it is I see in Mitsunari. Other, of course, than his brilliant mind.

He lifts his fingers; they interlace with mine. “That would be expecting too much.”

Silence falls over us as we gaze out the window at the livestock wandering around in their enclosures. From a distance, the chatter of the workers is carried on the wind, snatches of meaningless conversation. I close my eyes. It’s soothing, listening to the most natural things in this unnatural world. A familiar thought returns to haunt my mind, and I softly give it voice.

“Do you think all this will vanish once we defeat Orochi?”

Beside me, Mitsunari sighs. He has likely spent much time perpending this already; we are rather like-minded, after all. “There is no way of knowing.”

“Say it doesn’t. What will you do?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me at last.

“Search for a way back,” he answers without hesitation.

“To what?” I open my eyes and turn my head to face him. “What is waiting for you back home?”

He tenses, and for a moment, I think he will refuse to tell, but then he sighs, more wearily this time. “A war to decide the future of my homeland,” he answers grimly.

When I remain expectantly silent, he continues. “After my Lord Hideyoshi passed away, his former vassal and fellow follower of Oda Nobunaga by the name of Tokugawa Ieyasu sought my lord’s lands and power for himself. Instead of ruling as one of five regents while waiting for my lord’s rightful heir, Hideyori, to reach adulthood, he gathered supporters to usurp power. Loyalties were already strained following the last campaign, and when Maeda Toshiie died as well, there was no one really left to stop him. Still, the Uesugi, seeing his injustice for what it truly was, raised their armies and refused to join him. He demanded that they stand down and explain themselves before the Emperor. Good old Kanetsugu sent him a letter in reply that, to be honest, made me proud.” He chuckles. “Tokugawa moved to attack the Uesugi. I attacked them before they reached. And then, he turns around and calls _me_ a usurper. As if I could possibly be ungrateful enough to usurp power from the son of the man who took me in from nothing. But I have made many enemies in my life, s—”

“Oh, I can’t imagine why,” I interject, unable to resist the sarcasm, earning myself a sharp glare.

“So I reckon quite a number of clans joined Tokugawa simply to spite me. The rest either support him regardless or think they act in Hideyori’s best interests. I formed an alliance with those still loyal to the Toyotomi who aren’t fooled by Tokugawa’s lies and was preparing for what will likely be our decisive battle at a place called Sekigahara when I ended up here.” He exhales with what sounds like relief, as if he has wanted to say all this for a long time. “When I return, I intend to win that battle, although I will have to appoint someone else as commander, since I am advised that I am neither popular nor experienced enough to command the other leaders’ respectful obedience. And who knows how many of my allies the deceitful bastard has already approached and bribed anyway? If Kiyomasa and Masanori were convinced, I’m sure he’s spinning it very persuasively,” he finishes, looking away. When he next speaks, a long pause later, his voice is thick with emotion. “I… Before Kiyomasa left, he asked me if I could win. I… I couldn’t even give him a confident answer.”

I squeeze his hand. The entire situation just sounds miserable. “Yet, winning is important to you?”

“Of course,” he answers as if it should be obvious. “I was sent to live in a temple as a child, largely because my family had fallen on hard times, and I wasn’t even the firstborn son. When I was seven, I met Lord Hideyoshi, and he adopted me for no other reason but that he took a shine to me. Everything I have I owe to him. If it is his wish or would preserve his honour, I would do anything.”

I consider his words carefully. The man to whom he is so greatly indebted is already dead where he comes from, and yet, Mitsunari wishes to return to such despair to defend the son’s inheritance. If I can but win my strategist’s loyalty, I will have it forever. More than ever, I want him by my side, and whether it is for my empire or myself no longer matters. I _will_ have him.

“Why go back then? From what I can tell, everyone involved in your war is here. If you find a way back without them, there won’t be anyone to fight anyway.”

“And if Tokugawa Ieyasu makes it back without my knowledge?” He shakes his head. “What of you?” he asks, firmly shutting the door on my attempt to talk him out of leaving. “It sounds like you have no wish to return home.”

“No,” I agree. “Everything I achieve here is my own. Unlike back home, no one can say I have simply built upon my father’s accomplishments. Here, it is easier to step out of my father’s shadow because already I am no longer in it. An empire can be built anywhere.”

“Ambitious, aren’t we?” There is a glint of appreciation in his eyes. “I should like to have met your father, see what everyone here has placed on so lofty a pedestal.”

“Hmph.” I shift closer to him. “You may get your chance yet. I find it highly unlikely that he has fallen so easily.”

“Then your troubles aren’t over.” He settles against my side, and I am reminded that he should already be mine. “Perhaps we won’t get a choice,” he muses, resting his head on my shoulder. “Whether to go back or to stay.” [3]

I tilt my head to rest it on his. “Perhaps so.”

 

While my father oversees our preparations at Yamazaki, Mitsunari and I have returned to Luoyang to coordinate the mobilization of the rest of our troops. Our spies tracked a fleeing Da Ji to Koshi Castle, and the siege has been planned using the reports they brought back. My father had nothing but praise for my new strategist and even mentioned being impressed by “a bookish man’s” fighting prowess.

We work well together, certainly, and when the day’s tasks are over, I summon a page to take a hastily penned message to the other’s room inviting him to a game of weiqi. It occurs to me after the servant has left that I did not ask if he knows of the game, and when he arrives in a magenta kimono, he looks like he expects something dangerous. Yet, when he sees the board, he remarks that Go (as he calls it) is played on a bigger board in his time, and even then, his wariness is undiminished. Then there is another cause for his caution. Curious.

We end up discussing in detail the differences between the way weiqi is played in our respective homelands and eras instead of actually playing it. He sits at the table, occasionally arranging stones on the board to illustrate a point he is making, and I sit facing him on my bed, occasionally moving to the table to see or show him something on the board.

We must have been speaking for quite a while (I’ve long since lost track of time) because I find myself thirsty. Suggesting we play instead of merely talking about it, so he can show me if the strategies employed have changed with the centuries, I call for grape wine, my favourite beverage. When it is brought, I pour out a dish and offer it to him. Mitsunari falls abruptly silent and stares at it in undisguised suspicion.

Oh. The fool thinks I intend to poison him.

I can’t even imagine why he would think I suddenly want him dead, as if I haven’t had ample opportunity to kill him before and ten thousand petty reasons. Or perhaps he thinks, with Da Ji gone and the assault on Koshi Castle planned, that he’s outlived his usefulness to me. I am… hurt, admittedly.

Still, I drink a mouthful before offering it to him once more and conceal my mounting resentment as he turns the dish to drink from the exact place I did. “You know,” I say, forcing my tone to remain light. “There are far more more direct ways for me to kill you than there are more direct ways for you to kiss me.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” he ripostes with more than a little disdain, downing the rest of his wine and returning the dish to me.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it,” I snap, taking it and setting it down beside the jar before I can throw it at him.

“Don’t take for granted that just because I made one stupid mistake, y—”

Mistake? _Mistake_? “Just which one of us are you insulting?” I cut in, no longer bothering to rein in my fury. “I thought only Da Ji could do something so steeped in intention, and then pretend she didn’t mean it.” [4]

Instantly, I find his fan at my throat, an angry glint in his eyes. “If you don’t take that back right this instant, I _will_ have your head to avenge my honour,” he warns, voice low and dangerous.

I meet his gaze levelly. “So it’s all right when you are the one hurling the insults?”

“I didn’t compare you to her.”

“No, you said much worse.”

My answer stuns him, I see. This is no time for indecision. The moment he falters, I swiftly push the weapon away and pull him into my lap to kiss him. As soon as our lips touch, he deepens the kiss and cups my face with his hands, lets me wrap my arms around him tightly and plunder his mouth.

When we part, he presses our foreheads together and asks, “Why are you doing this?”

I bury my hands in copper hair. “By that, I assume ‘I enjoyed it the last time’ isn’t a good enough answer for you?” He doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t have to. “I just told you not to insult me,” I mutter, capturing his lips once more. [5]

This time, he attacks my mouth with fervour and presses closer earnestly, and when my hand on the small of his back slips lower, he groans with all the raw need I saw that first afternoon. The prideful idiot.

I crush him to me in a fierce embrace and wrap my hand around his ankle. “Slow down,” I whisper, inhaling the earthy scent of his skin as I trace a winding path up his left leg with my fingertips. With my other hand, I work at the fastenings of his kimono, so it falls open, and touch every revealed scar with my lips, my tongue, my fingers.

“I’m not a woman,” he complains impatiently, but seems nevertheless charmed that I seek more than just a passing satisfaction.

“I know,” I murmur, tracing circles on his inner thigh. “I have one.”

He manages something of a snort. “You will have sixteen.”

My hand closes around his arousal, and the breath hitches in his throat. “Undoubtedly because I couldn’t create you Empress,” I joke with a laugh.

“Stop spouting such nonsense,” he chides derisively, but grows fully erect in my hand, and I _have_ him. He’s mine, mine, _mine_.

I flip him around, press him flush against me with a hand to his belly and scrape my teeth over his shoulder. I shake my head in fond exasperation. Just moments ago, he was afraid I’d poison him; now, he doesn’t even tense. He covers my hand with his own, lacing our fingers, and buries his other hand in my hair as his kimono slips off his shoulders to pool at his waist and elbows. I slip my free hand under his knee and slide it upwards in what must be torturous slowness, and he groans, shifting and squirming until I feel my cock press up against the crease of his arse through all the layers of fabric between us.

Too many layers, but he rocks back, brusque, and I bite down hard enough to draw blood. He makes the filthiest noise I have ever heard and arches his back, head falling back to rest on my shoulder, and it is the most beautifully debauched thing in the world.

He grabs the hand now cupping his arse and guides it under the robe back to his erection. I let him teach me how to touch him (rough, thumbing the slit at the tip with every stroke), and he whimpers with wanton abandon, thrusting into our hands and rocking back in my lap in turn.

As I lap up the blood and mouth my way up to his ear, I think Katō Kiyomasa is a fool. I don’t know how he ever stopped doing this. I would have Mitsunari just like this forever.

“Stay with me,” I find myself murmuring against his skin, pressing an urgent kiss to the pulse point behind his ear. He gasps, and I kiss his jaw. “Always.”

Mitsunari chokes back a cry as he comes so hard it leaves him slumped against me, shaking, when it’s over. I am so hard it hurts, so close, but for now, it’s enough to just tighten my arms around him, to place my palm over his heart and want it so badly I could sink my fingers in. Kneel before me, I will him silently, and swear you will always be mine. For he should be. He must be. If I have to, I would even tie him down.

And maybe he knows, maybe he hears, because he hoarsely whispers, “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“On the contrary, I think I do.” Choose, I want to say, and don’t tell me the legacy of a dead man is worth more to you than everything I could give you.

The kimono falls to the floor as he rises and turns to wrap his hands around my neck. “You selfish princeling,” he bites out, shaking me, but there’s no real heat in it, and his eyes are sad. I hate him for it. “Oil. Tell me you have oil.”

“In the bathing chamber.”

“A private bath?” He practically tears my clothes off. “We should use it.”

I follow him to the adjoining room, pulling a cord by the door to signal the servants below to heat the water. I sit at the edge, my feet in the tepid bath, and he straddles my lap once more, bottle in hand. Pouring out a large amount, he coats my right hand in it, then begins to slowly fist my cock with his oil-slick hand. I hiss, thrusting up into his touch and let him press my oiled fingers to his entrance. I caress the cleft experimentally with one digit, and he bites his lip, nodding once. It is as hot and tight as I remember when I slide my finger in, and his hand stills as he squeezes his eyes shut.

I grab his chin with my free hand as I move the digit in and out of him rhythmically. “Look at me.” Don’t you dare be thinking of someone else this time.

He obliges and, beneath the lust and desire, looks conflicted, but only says, “Another.” I run my thumb over his bottom lip tenderly as I obey, and his breathing grows ragged as he pushes back onto my fingers. “Splay them,” he commands breathlessly and gasps when I do.

Then he’s pulling my hand away and taking me inside him, and it takes all my self-restraint to keep from coming, but that’s not enough, and I see stars as soon as I’m buried to the hilt. Gods. His sigh of pleasure as I fill him is deliciously lewd, and if I could come again right this instant, I would. I shift, but the grip of his thighs tightens on my hips.

“Don’t,” he breathes, his lips ghosting over mine. “Not yet. Again.”

The water is warm now, so I push forwards into the bath, immersing us up to our chests. “Stay,” I tell him again, taking his clean hand in mine and pressing my lips to his knuckles. “Climb the mountain with me.”

He sighs wearily, leaning forward to wrap his arms around me. “What if we don’t get a choice? Say this all disappears with Orochi.”

“Then it’s all moot. We can hardly stop now.” If we stop for any reason now, we wouldn’t survive for long, and to die without accomplishing anything in this world would simply be wretched.

“You see now the folly of your desires.”

I shake my head, carding my fingers through his hair. “I make no futile efforts.”

“Hmph.” He buries his face in my neck. “I can’t give you what you want.”

“No,” I agree, running my hands over his slender frame in the steaming water. “You can’t even presume to know what that is.”

His bark of laughter is short, exasperated. “Then tell me, my selfish little prince,” he says in mock indulgence, resentment dripping from his tone, as he pulls away. “Tell me what you want from me.” One hand plucks at my nipples, and every flick and twist of his fingers goes straight down. I moan. “I’m no maiden you can take for a consort, neither the only nor the greatest strategist you could employ, and even my allies don’t think me fit to command our army.” His other hand fists in my hair almost painfully, and his lips are curled with scorn. “What irreplaceable use could you possibly have for me in this empire of your childhood dreams?”

Oh, a challenge. He forgets I like them. “You really are an idiot.” While I would treasure him above all else, their puny minds cannot even grasp his worth, and yet he wishes to return to their petty power struggle for the sake of a child who won’t appreciate his sacrifice. That takes a special brand of folly.

“That is one thing I am not. This is simply the stupidest decision I have ever made.”

“Stop saying that,” I reprimand him irritably with a slap to his shoulder. I despise the implication that I’m a poor choice on his part, even if he is a fool. I pull him forward sharply and nibble on an earlobe as I let one finger rub teasingly along where we are joined. “I need a man I can trust,” I answer breathlessly into his ear as he gasps my name and clenches around me. Oh, gods, yes. “And my empire will need a Prime Minister.”

Mitsunari grunts in frustration, wrapping his legs around my waist. “Fuck me,” he orders simply. Because, of course, I am only a prince when it suits him.

I flip us over to do just that, and this time, when orgasm takes us, we fall as one.

 

My father is celebrating my victory over Orochi like he did all the work. All of Wei is content to agree that the triumph is his, but that’s only to be expected. He is still the king, after all. That doesn’t mean I have to like or watch it, however, so I leave the festivities behind. Mitsunari is waiting when I step out into the courtyard, knowing I would come, I expect.

“It’s over,” he opens because he wouldn’t give me the satisfaction of ‘well done.’

“Not just yet,” I correct. “My quest is incomplete. I must realize my dream.” The scene inside only makes my conviction clearer.

“Your dream,” he says softly, turning to face me. “I always meant to ask you. Did you… think you could realize that dream alone?”

I hide a smile. Now that he knows he’s stuck here, he can finally give me his heart’s answer. Albeit in that roundabout way he says anything that isn’t an insult.

“You’re going to…” He trails off, hearing the sound of people approaching. “…need everyone’s help,” is what he settles for at last, knowing I would catch his intended meaning regardless.

I respond with an amused snort as my allies join us in looking out at the glow of the sunset over this new world that is to be our home indefinitely. Maybe some of them are disappointed that they did not get to return home, but they know who really defeated Orochi, and that’s what matters.

Mitsunari brushes his fingertips lightly against mine, and it’s more intimate than the kiss I place on my wife’s cheek when she comes to stand beside me. A breeze picks up, and I sit on the steps in the waning light. One by one, the others leave to join the celebratory banquet inside until only Mitsunari and I are left. When we are at long last alone, I hand him an iron fan.

“I believe this belongs to you.” I found it in my tent this morning.

He makes no move to take it. “I meant for you to keep it,” he says softly. In case we never saw each other again after the battle, I presume. It is his favourite, if not his best, the one with the slogan on the back of his coat on it.

I put it away and wrap an arm around his waist. He leans against me to rest his head on my shoulder, fitting perfectly like he’s always belonged here.

“I am glad that things turned out like this,” he confesses in a whisper. I assume he means that he wasn’t forced to choose.

“As am I,” I agree, and I can’t help but resent that he would never choose me over his perceived responsibility.

“Zihuan, do you…”

I turn to stare at him. He’s never used my style name before. “You don’t have to change it.”

He smiles, evidently as charmed by my permission not to as I am by his sudden desire to afford me that respect. “I am informed it is the polite and respectful thing to do. Your people talk about how poor my manners are.”

I snort. “It’s more formal than I expect of you, and don’t pretend you’ve suddenly developed some concern for how impressively rude you can be.” Still, it’s a token of his esteem for my success in this plan to defeat Orochi, and I touch my lips to his temple in appreciation. “Besides, if you’d like to call me something different in public, you should start with ‘my lord’ like all the rest.”

“Hmph, ask me again when you’re king,” he scoffs, turning to look back up at the darkening sky. “Do you think there’ll ever be a way back?”

“Perhaps.” But it’s not like I intend to let him choose. I am not one to easily give up what is rightfully mine. “If we simply kill Tokugawa Ieyasu, however, that won’t matter.” You can’t fight a war if your enemies are already dead, after all. There is no response, and I turn to find him staring at me in pleasant surprise. As if he thought I’d told him ‘always’ that night in jest. Fighting down my irritation, I gesture at the horizon beyond the castle walls. “Show me where, Mitsunari, and you shall have his head. The world shall bow before me. He can be the first.”

He looks away to hide his face. “A Prime Minister does not reside in the Emperor’s chambers, you know,” he mutters, awkward and embarrassed. “People would suspect. I… hate getting between husbands and wives. It always ends in tears, one way or another.”

I shrug. “Every lady is resigned upon marrying an aristocrat to the knowledge that she will not be the only one. And you can always tell them we’ve sworn as brothers.”

Mitsunari bursts into laughter. “Brothers?”

I incline my head, amused. “In these parts, the oath of brotherhood is stronger than the ritual of marriage. A man is expected to be closer to his sworn brother than to his wife. You can ask Liu Bei when you next cross paths with him.” [6]

He continues laughing merrily, but rises to his feet and grabs my wrist to pull me to mine.

“Where are we going?” I ask as I let him tug me towards the stables.

Mitsunari rolls his eyes to tell me I’m being stupid and answers as if it should be obvious.

“To find a peach tree.”

**Author's Note:**

> [1] 里 (li) – Ancient Chinese measurement of length/distance. In Chinese, we talk about superlative numbers in ten thousands (万) the way we say millions in English.  
> [2] 个有春秋 – Chinese saying that means something like “every way of doing things has its strengths and weaknesses.” In this case, Cao Pi means to say that even though Mitsunari brews tea very differently from the way his people do it, the result is pleasing to him.  
> [3] Here, Cao Pi refers to a very traditional Chinese masculine manner of thinking or speaking: once you have bedded a woman, she belongs to you. An example of this is embodied in Lü Bu referring to Diao Chan as “my woman.” In the same vein, Cao Pi is suggesting that, since he has already bedded Mitsunari, the other already belongs to him, and Mitsunari is just being difficult about it.  
> [4] In Chinese, Cao Pi would say 你现在是说我随便， 还是你随便？ but this translates very poorly to English in context. He is saying that when Mitsunari calls what they did a stupid mistake, he’s either implying that Cao Pi would participate just because he was willing or that Mitsunari would have done it with anyone who was willing and present, and that’s insulting to them both.  
> [5] With reference to note 4 above, what he says in Chinese is 我刚说我不是那么随便。 He means that he wouldn’t have bedded Mitsunari the first time if just anyone would have sufficed and that this time isn’t without meaning or intent either.  
> [6] Cao Pi here is somewhat jokingly referring to the time Liu Bei went to war with Wu over his sworn brother, Guan Yu, even though he'd married Sun Shang Xiang.
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> This is my first fic in this fandom. Thank you for reading. Any and all feedback would be much appreciated!


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